


Desperate College Student in Need of Supernatural Assistance

by Omano



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/pseuds/Omano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has certain perks to have the Devil and an archangel as boyfriends (even when they fight) when it comes to exams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate College Student in Need of Supernatural Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm awful at giving titles, summaries and tags, and I'm also stressed out myself, but here this is dedicated to all the college students who have ever thought about striking some deals before an exam.
> 
> Please enjoy :)

 

It wasn’t enough that that sadistic prof. Walker had thrown back Dean’s circuit designs like four hours after the last second, it wasn’t enough that in order to complete that fucking course he barely slept four goddamn hours in the past three days, it wasn’t enough that he couldn’t sigh and peacefully break down in relief after he handed over the stack of papers with the _accurate_ font on the cover (it really was just dear old Gordon fucking with him) he now had approximately 7 hours and 38 minutes to prepare for the next exam.

He just drew up the last line to the summoning circle. There. At this point no one could blame him that he was sitting in the middle of his dorm room surrounded by eight white candles.

No one had the right to judge him as he lit the last match and dropped it into the bowl of herbs and other ingredients that would fit any Satanic ritual perfectly. If anything, Dean deserved a pat on the back how he was taking proactive steps instead of just sobbing curled up under his bed.

A surprised little yelp sounded from the other side of the room.

The book, that previously had rested on Lucifer’s lap before he evaporated, thudded to the ground with a heavy sound.

Then the air shifted against the skin of his face, and a familiar weight settled over his thighs. Cool arms slipped around his neck.

“You know, Michael is the sucker for incense.”

Dean rolled his eyes, before he made a bitter grimace. He was too worn-out to blush at the Devil smiling sweetly in his lap. “Thought you were an angel, before you changed majors.”

“True,” Lucifer hummed. And with that same, menacingly soft smile caressed the flickering flame of one candle. “Your drawings got better.”

“I’m an engineer student, Luce, come on. I’d better just bury myself six feet under if I can’t draw some damned circles and lines in my sleep!”

“So, dram _atic_.”

Dean bit down hard on his lower lip to bar the line of curses from spilling out in the open. It had definitely been the worst decision of his life switching rooms with Michael.

For this once, though, Lucifer was gracious enough to catch on to Dean’s aggravation. “If you wanted a kiss, you could have just said so,” he murmured.

Fed up with all the stalling Dean leaned up as best as he could to finally seal their mouths together, consequences be damned, but Lucifer had none of that. The Devil’s fingers fisted in Dean’s hair - obviously he was in dire need of a haircut - and with that leverage he could force and tilt his head as he pleased. And pleased he was indeed , if the darkened hooded eyes and the self-satisfied smile was anything to go by.

When they finally brushed lips Lucifer kept their kiss slow.

So slow, that at first Dean felt he could scream in the sheer agitation that pulled his muscles too tight and made his skin crawl. Although, as soon as his head got angled as Lucifer wanted, it suddenly turned the entire world upside down. The always cool, pink lips moved smooth and slick against his, so soft and so impossibly _perfect_ that Dean couldn’t help the sigh escape his lungs.

Lucifer soaked up all the little sounds Dean made. And as he started to suckle on Dean’s already swollen lower lip he seemed to have drank the stress away from his system as well.

After they finally parted Dean didn’t even have the brain capacity to wonder why he was still sitting upwards when he felt so boneless and light, drifting, floating in blissful ignorance of his impending exam…

_Oh_. There it was. The lead weight back in his stomach, knotting it up into the size of an apple.

Lucifer must have noticed, because his brows drew together slightly. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“So, what is so important that you couldn’t spare the time to call out for me and maybe, I dunno, ask me to come over these five steps?”

Dean cleared his throat before he said, “I’ve got an exam tomorrow. I need some help.”

“Hmm… But I know absolutely nothing about…” Lucifer raised both of his eyebrows and made some vague motions with his hand in a clear sign of how little idea he had of the matter.

“It’s Wireless Communication, an elective, not that big deal.”

“Then why do you care so much?”

“Because I do! I need a good GPA!”

“Just re-take it.”

“I can’t if I fail or don’t turn up on this one!”

It was probably not the best way of pleading his case to snap at Lucifer like that, but how could he explain in his current frantic mood that he cannot fail an exam or go below 4.0 if he wanted to retain some kind of self-confidence next to his brother and Michael and especially Lucifer - but okay, basically everyone around him was a genius. It wasn’t easy when exams came around.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Lucifer said, and he almost looked truly apologetic. Dean’s stomach dropped out of his body. “This week’s really busy for me, too. I don’t really have time to convince your teacher to give you an A.”

“I don’t…” Dean started helplessly, but even his voice died on his tongue. It took remarkable effort to swallow back the new wave of hopelessness. “So what you’re saying,” he started again with more exasperation now, “is that I sold my soul for the hundredth time-”

“One hundred and seventeenth, to be precise,” Lucifer corrected.

“That I sold my soul for one hundred and fucking seventeenth time for _nothing_?!”

Lucifer looked disturbingly calm in the face of Dean’s outburst.

“Well, technically while I do, too,  have an exam tomorrow,” he started, smooth and slick as poisoned honey, his fingertips tracing the outline of Dean’s bicep. “I still have some favours to call in.”

“Whoever’s stupid enough to owe you favours?” Dean scoffed.

Somehow the Devil’s grin only grew wider as he quickly pecked Dean on the lips. “You could try a quick prayer to Michael.”

“He wouldn’t--!”

Lucifer only shrugged a one-shoulder shrug.

“He always owes me. Both of you self-sacrificing idiots do, actually. However,” and he stretched, spine cracking unnaturally loudly, “it’s rather you ask for help. He’s been a little bitchy lately.”

 

By the time Michael walked into the room Dean had managed to widen a hole on his jeans so that he could easily fit three fingers into it. Without making much sound the archangel sat down on the bed next to Dean and pressed his lips to the side of his hairline.

“Were your schematics accepted finally?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed. “Yeah. Sorry, you don’t get to pick a fight.”

“You could still make yourself useful, though,” Lucifer piped in from across the room. He had spent the past couple minutes sprawled in his swivel chair, watching Dean’s nervous fidgeting.

Michael’s eyes flashed at Lucifer, and his expression grew grave immediately.

“Aw,” Lucifer drawled as he stood. “A week wasn’t enough to get over yourself, Micha?”

Michael pushed himself up onto his feet as well. He crossed his arms, and glared.

“Dean’s got an exam tomorrow. We’ve gotta help him pass.”

“That’s cheating.”

The last morsels of hope he had managed to retain dropped out of Dean.

“And that is exactly why I got 100 on Tactical Thinking and you only 99.”

Dean was just about to burst out in tears and jump up to throw himself between the two before his evening programme got turned into scrubbing blood from the walls, but Lucifer decided he had everything under control. Even with Michael’s dangerously pale face and tight jaw.

“Let us have a few words,” Lucifer smiled. He took Michael’s arm - or more like he tried to before the other took half a step away, but he still threw it back over his shoulder, “You go back to your books, Dean.”

With that they walked to Lucifer’s side of the room.

While it would have been a good advice to follow, Dean obviously had ears more for his two boyfriends’ argument than eyes for the textbook.

He didn’t have much success in eavesdropping though. Whenever they fought, Michael and Lucifer switched back to that low, guttural and throat scraping language of theirs, however, when they spoke it Enochian didn’t sound so appalling, as it gained fire and destructive passion on their tongues. All that Dean could pick up were a minimal variation of swearwords (Michael turned shockingly foul mouthed when he fought with Lucifer) and the name Bartholomew, Dean’s teacher in question (who was actually a phD student, with a huge ass crush on Michael--- _Oh._ That made _a little_ sense now).

Dean had no idea if he should start looking for a nice crematory or start working his hopes up. With Righteous-Michael and his hurt pride it was really hard to tell how the argument was going. At some point Lucifer took Michael’s hands, and as he stepped into the angel’s space he definitely looked seductive. Although Michael still looked pissed when he left the room, his feathers ruffled, murmuring under his breath.

“So?” Dean prodded, totally and absolutely confused.

Lucifer looked at him, still smiling, but that smile could still mean that _tomorrow I’ll assist to your suicide ritual_ or _I’ll simply enjoy watching you toss among doubts for the rest of the night_.

“Just go back to your textbook.”

Dean, as suggested, went back to  his textbook. Only to then throw said textbook at the Devil’s head with full force.

 

The next morning as Dean made his way back to his room finally, _finally,_  he felt like he could _FINALLY_ breathe. He had no idea what happened last night, but Bartholomew was so out of it this morning that he declared the exam to be postponed a week. Dean didn’t pass, per se, but he had another seven days to prepare, and that was everything he could ask for.

Once, or twice he bumped into the doorframe as he tried to head in the direction of his bed. He had run out of coffee and he was still running on the last drops of adrenaline in his system. Which was good, considering how he only wanted to sleep for two days straight.

With each step he took into the pitch-black room (he didn’t remember closing all the blinds before he left, and Lucifer certainly didn’t as he had left even sooner) Dean shucked out of another piece of clothing. When his shin bumped against the edge of the bed he was standing in his boxers. He flopped down on the mattress not bothering with the covers, and then Dean froze.

The hard thing he dropped upon groaned.

“What the hell?” Dean mumbled; clumsily he grabbled for the lamp switch.

“Don’t you dare,” Michael rasped in the dark.

Dean’s eyes rounded, but it helped nothing with his sight.

“You moved out of this room last week, dude,” he pointed out. Then he scrunched up his nose. “Ew. It smells like a distillery in here.”

“I drank Bartholomew under the table last night.” Michael shifted.

“But that’s-”

“Illegal? Immoral? I know.” With miserable little groans the angel wiggled until he molded his back against Dean’s chest.

Dean pressed his grin into Michael’s shoulder, his head heavy on the pillow. He pressed a lazy kiss to the hot, alcohol smelling skin.

“Thanks, Mike.”

“Urgh. Now. Sleep. I don’t wanna wake up until the hangover’s gone.”

 

When he later woke up, still to absolute darkness, Dean found himself sandwiched between his Devil and Angel, his head resting on Lucifer’s bicep, while the blond’s other arm was draped over both Dean and Michael.

 


End file.
